I can hear their beaks tapping against the glass; their uneven claws scraping incessantly at the pane as though their lives really did depend upon it. The squawking sounds, the beating of their tattered wings… I am just grateful I cannot hear my own thoughts. I know they are coming for me.

They can smell the blood, the fear, the disappointment. The tears only interest them further – confirmation that someone, something, has died. The meaning of the lost object is of little importance to them. It is the thrill of the kill they dream of, as they circle overhead, blissfully callous and distanced from the raw emotion below.

Sorry to disappoint, my darlings, but there is nothing left alive here.

The stench that lured them to this place is nothing more than the putrid remnants of a romance lost. Is it the flesh of my heart they wish to feast upon? By all means, it is theirs, if they can find it. Last time my eyes gazed upon it, it was being torn to threads and thrown about as though it was nothing more than a toy. A silly little toy…

But they have a sixth sense; a certain knack for finding what is gone. Not that I want it back, of course. What use is it to me now?

Excited cries break through the silence as a fragment is found; the birds swoop down menacingly to peck and tear at what is already so broken. As they fly off with the little pieces of my heart, I see they have left me a single heartstring.

Purposefully? Most likely, for these are vile, sadistic creatures.

What is it meant to symbolise? A shred of hope to hang onto perhaps? Or a graphic reminder of what it was like to feel, to live, to love?

If only it were a little longer, it could form a noose around my neck.

Big thanks to sarainya-fish and Peachesandcream15, my soulmates, for helping me :]Love you both xx

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